“Trust begets trust,” cried Nina, in impassioned tones that affected to ignore her friend’s interruption. “I’ve found it so with my own Morris. There’s always been perfect sympathy between us, and he’s never had a thought or wish that I haven’t shared. I know Morris as I do myself, I may say—simply because I’ve always trusted—blindly, implicitly, if you will, but——”
The trenchant accents of Mrs. Tregaskis, in tones very much deeper and louder than any at Nina’s command, broke definitely into this eloquent monologue.
“Now look here, my dear. You know that I’m nothing if not direct—sledge-hammer, if you like. I can’t stand shilly-shally.” She planted both hands on her hips, in her favourite attitude of determination.
“Out with it, Nina. Did you ever mean to make that Retreat affair at all?”
“Bertie! I don’t know what you mean by speaking to me in that magisterial tone. I am in the habit of meaning what I say. I don’t suppose any woman on this earth is more childishly open and sincere than I am, as you very well know. Of course I meant to make the Retreat—it has been a most bitter blow to me that I was unable to finish it—but my boy’s need comes before anything.”
“His need of what?”
“Of me,” said Nina majestically.
“How can his need of you have sprung up like a mushroom in the night?” demanded her friend in highly unbelieving accents. “A week ago you were miserable because he was wasting time and money in Paris amongst all that wretched musical crowd”—Nina felt it due to her art to draw herself up tensely at the description—“and now you expect me to believe that he can’t wait quietly at Pensevern for four days till you come home.”
“If Morris has suddenly realized that he has only one true friend in all the world—his mother—and turned to her again—how could she fail him?” pathetically inquired Mrs. Severing, with a distinct recollection of Mère Pauline’s flights of fancy.
“Of course, my dear, if Morris has got himself into some silly scrape and come to you to be helped out, it’s another thing,” said Bertha unconvincedly. “I’m only too glad, for your sake, if he has turned to you at last. I know what a grief and mortification it’s always been to you that you hadn’t his confidence more—foolish boy!”